Phoenix Darkening
by Aranya Ver'Sarn
Summary: Trying times call for trying choices. Arcanist Aranya Ver'Sarn's choice to live and work on both sides of the faction line in an Azerite-crazed world comes with the need for powerful disguises, but the power it takes to use such disguise does not make the decision a light or easy one. One-shot exploring the experience of changing.


Aranya sat quietly on a gilded floor, looking out at the stars above Zandalar. She was calm, still, breathing evenly and slow, despite what she was about to do. The arcanist looked down at a beautiful crystal trinket with a crescent within it, a gift from Colpeia's tribe after she had sent them aid in the wake of Sargeras stabbing his sword into the heart of Silithus and robbing the Tanari illusion-weavers of one of their most sacred places.

It was a gift that later came with wisdom and warnings spoken to her, as she requested training in an illusion so deep, that she could lose conscious control of herself and it would still remain in place until she deliberately willed it away. A disguise to let the Thalassian woman cross to the other side of the faction war, stay afloat of matters in the world, keep playing a hand that could matter in a world where Azerite now decided the fate of so many. An illusion as only the Shafise could craft to let her pass for ren'dorei amongst the Alliance.

"What you ask has its dangers, _Ankaa,"_ the sultana had warned her, calling her by her Tanari-given name. An illusion _that_ strong required both strength _and_ surrender. She had to give herself to the power that she invited and allowed in, but also needed an anchor within herself to keep her being who she was. It was a process that could drive one mad, if they survived it.

Colpeia hadn't left Aranya's side for a single moment of the phoenix-mage's training. It might've been that the lovely desert-elf felt she would never forgive herself if anything happened to Aranya and she wasn't there to help her, save her, bring her back, do _something._ It was actually a comfort to have her there, to have her see and know what her friend could do, her limits.

Aranya closed her eyes to the Zandalari skies, it was time to get this over with.

She breathed slow and deep, following the breath with her mind as it came into her and left her. Then she went deeper, following the rhythm of her blood, focusing on a particular power that flowed through her, and there were many to choose from. The red mana Kazakus gave her, charging her, keeping her sharp. The Sunwell's sparkling, arcane light, giving her life. The essence of Felo'dal, her phoenix familiar, pulled into herself so long ago when he sacrificed himself for her in the Firelands, and she couldn't bear to have his existence so utterly ended. There were also lingering traces of magic and mana she had siphoned from prey.

Aranya chose one thing within her to be her anchor, and focused on it utterly; how it felt, where it came from, what it did in her veins with every breath and beat of her heart. Then she opened her mind, inviting in something else, something from beyond the definitions of reality, in which space and time were merely words that didn't actually mean anything. The purest primordial form of existence, the thing from which _reality itself_ somehow coalesced into being and could one day dissolve and return back to.

Her eyes immediately flew open, their colors no long a smoldering green, but a whirling chaos. Her mouth fell open in a silent gasp that didn't come, the wind somehow taken out of her. She fell forward on her hands and knees, shaking uncontrollably. Her blood raced in a panicked rhythm, she wanted to push whatever felt like it was now _re-weaving her bones and skin_ away, but she rolled over, collapsing onto her back, shutting her eyes tight as she somehow forced her mind back onto that one power within her that she had chosen to anchor herself through this, going inward and letting go of everything else.

When she finally stopped shuddering and felt she could finally breathe again, Aranya just remained lying on the floor for a moment, dizzy, re-orienting herself, pressing her cheek to the cool floor and appreciating the stability it gave. Eventually her breathing calmed, and she lifted her head, midnight blue tresses falling back from her moonslight-hued shoulder as Halenvar pulled her close and tight to him, almost crushing her against his massive chest.

Aranya loved his warmth and solidity, it was wonderful.

"I hate watching you go through that," said Halenvar, his tone sounding strained.

"I'm sorry," breathed Aranya, her voice now having an otherwordly echo.

The first time that the valarjar had ever witnessed what it was that his now-wife had to go through each time to maintain her latest choice of disguise, Colpeia had had to hold him back, almost having to resort magic to do so. _"Don't! If you interrupt now it could kill her!"_

Aranya's husband loosed his grip on her to hold her face in his strong hands, his blue green eyes holding the pale blue stars of hers. "Be careful," he said, like always. "Come back to me soon."

"I will," promised Aranya, kissing him.


End file.
